Johnny Theremin: A Tax Man Brought to the Edge
by Cat Alex
Summary: A story that charts the odd journey of Johnny Theremin. Concept created by Neil Gaiman on his blog. Futher explanation within.
1. The Man We Give Our Taxes To

**Johnny Theremin – A Young Tax Man Brought to the Edge**

A story by Cat Alex

A/N: A small explanation. Neil Gaiman once got a strange request on his blog for chapter summaries, but no details were given. So Neil made them up and so the cult of Johnny Theremin was born. People write Johnny Theremin stories and put them up, so I decided to put my one up here. To learn more about the Johnny Theremin experience, you can visit the johnnytheremin which is at .net (it won't let me put the address up for some reason) and learn all about how it happened, etc. It's pretty funny. So here's my go.

Chapter One: Johnny Theremin – The Man We Give Our Taxes To

_In which we are introduced to Johnny – who 'we' are – what taxes mean to Johnny – why he doesn't work for the Inland Revenue_

Johnny Theremin was a man. He had two arms, two legs and one head. Together with other bits and bobs, they made a body and Johnny liked it because he had no other choice.

He was a man of taxes. And we, the people, gave them to him on occasion. Well, the wealthy lazy ones were supposed to that is. Johnny didn't like his job, and classed 'we' as "those lazy rich English snobs" simply because he wasn't rich himself, though really he wanted to be. In his single lone filing cabinet, we were 'Them' and Johnny wished he had more than two folders in his filing cabinet.

"Oh God, why me?" he mumbled into his arms, his head resting morosely on his desk, which looked as if it had recently involved in a fire. This was because Johnny was in debt. Working private had been a bad move on Johnny's part; his lack of thinking further ahead than a month making his life more difficult than necessary. When he left university and was able to aptly process taxes, he had had the stupid notion to start up his own business wherein he would sort out taxes for other people. This seemed like a good idea, until Johnny had experienced the reality and wished fervently he had just got a job in a bank and let the job slowly kill him.

However, instead he had rented an office in a dilapidated building, in a scummy part of London where the sun never seemed to shine and the area was in a constant state of misty downpours. Johnny had advertised using himself to hand out flyers he had made by begging friends to steal paper and utilise photocopiers from their shiny, clean offices. It hadn't gone well. He had three customers – the lady who lived in the flat next to him and appeared to be under the belief that she was famous and was constantly sighing dramatically, and his parents. It wasn't looking good. Twenty three years old and where was he? In a poky little office the size of a matchbox stuffed with weird instruments he couldn't even name. This cramped bloody office wasn't even all his. On weekends it was let out to a classical band to practise their performance. He was desperate and to earn extra cash allowed them to store any instruments they wanted for a small charge, and now he was seriously regretting it. The amount of space he had was pathetic, even it the instruments did help pay the rent. Johnny wrinkled his lightly freckled nose and finally took the initiative to sit up, which revealed a not exactly gorgeous, or a completely ugly young man. He had the face of a young accountant in turmoil; his ear length light brown hair was messed up and his sky blue eyes looked tired and withdrawn, to match his bank account.

"What am I going to do?" he mumbled to himself and stood, straightening his crumpled shirt before weaving through the instrument cases to his filing cabinet. Reluctantly he opened the stout grey cabinet and picked up the front folder labelled 'Me', which was just behind the last file 'Them'. With a heavy sigh, Johnny looked at the letter he had been sent by the resident landlord of these offices and his heart sank again, deciding reading it a second time didn't help at all.

The letter had clearly been typed on a typewriter and the person who had typed it had been angry, the letters jiggling about the paper as if each line of typing had gone through a wave machine. It was short and to the point: pay this month's rent or don't expect an office to come back to by angry ink blurred date. But Johnny Theremin had no money, nothing that could cover rent and feed him, so Johnny had settled for being able to eat. He hated old Morris Glanz's guts anyway, the man who liked to come into his office so he could jeer at his lack of clientele. On Morris's more malicious days he brought along tax forms and waved them in Johnny's face while the younger man tried to pretend to be working on some important tax work.

Ah, taxes… Johnny held no love for them, but at the age of twenty one had thought that taxes were the future – the only depressing future along with death. People always had to pay them, and more and more people seemed to have no idea how to do the damn things and Johnny had quickly become convinced that flocks of people would come knocking. Even adding that he also gave financial advice on the flyers hadn't helped move business.

It hadn't panned out that way and this was what Johnny was left with – destitute, with the burden of a late office rent payment and a depression that weighed down on him more each day. Johnny rubbed the freckles on nose, a habit he indulged in when stressed, and lightly banged his head against the wall above the filing cabinet. He instantly regretted it, but continued to behave as if it had been the plan all along, perhaps to convince himself he wasn't a fool.

"I should have been a detective," Johnny announced to the wall as he put the file away and returned to his threadbare office chair to pick up his heavy trench coat – the only possession he owned that he found useful. His parents had given it to him last year when he had complained of always being cold and now he had the toughest, multiple purpose coat in existence. It was made of thick and heavy material that was waterproof and on the inside was soft and warm. It was long and Johnny used it as covers for his bed, a coat, an emergency miniature tent, on extreme occasions as a weapon, and during really bad months, where a loaf of bread was a commodity, as a rainwater collector. Johnny had the sinking feeling one of those kinds of months were on their way.

Johnny felt tiredness wash over him. It had been doing this all day and he felt like he'd been eroded to the point he would crumbled into the sea. Scratching his head, he decided he would close his office for the day and go home to sleep. As if to confirm this decision, he put on his coat and strode to the door. Well, he would have if he didn't have to wind his way through the instruments.

"Bloody… whatever the hell that is," Johnny grumbled, giving the instrument case a small kick and shut his office door, which rattled ominously on its hinges, the hinges shuddering. Shaking his head, Johnny turned and left the building, unable to understand how his landlord was able to charge him so much for such a pathetic space.

Little did Johnny Theremin know of the events that were to proceed after he had left his office and crossed the road. The road was quite unobtrusive, except for the droning traffic that flooded by on a daily basis. The road was well worn from traffic and had never endangered his life so far. And, well… it wasn't going to threaten his life yet. Let's see…

With his trench coat warming him up and the burden of his job lifted a little now he was in the polluted London air, where a light drizzle began to flatten his exploded hair, he managed a genuine smile and looked about before crossing the busy road. The cars rushed by, but did not run our protagonist over. Though Johnny hated drizzle, it refreshed him and he took in a breath of moderately fresh air – the cars and general London air tended to have that congested city pall that slowly weighed your lungs down if you weren't a regular in the city. Johnny took in the lungful as if it were the freshest air he had even breathed.

Just as he had reached the other side, he was mown down by a giant man with a large backpack on his shoulders and Johnny felt his head smack on the already cracked concrete. He whined, wondering why today had to be so cruel to him and squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to block reality out.

"Dear me, what was that? Hello – are you alright?" a voice boomed from above Johnny's head and Johnny reflexively squeezed his eyes shut and wanted to curl into a ball, like a hedgehog. Before he could achieve ball status, a large hand had reached down and grabbed his shoulder, hauling him to his feet.

"What a terrible thing for me to do, knock a poor lad down!" the voice continued as if he was addressing a crowd. Johnny opened his eyes to come face to face with a large friendly looking man who was easily a foot taller than Johnny, but wasn't menacing.

"Look over there – that's the pub we were heading to. Let me buy you a drink to make up for nearly killing you," the man told Johnny and all Johnny could do was weakly nod, his head still spinning slightly from the impact.

"We'll get a few good ales down you and you'll be right as rain, you'll see," the burly man led Johnny down the street, with Johnny dazedly following, a large arm weighing down his shoulders.

And with that, the men lead Johnny away towards the pub labelled 'The Greenfinch Paradise' and Johnny wondered if the rest of his day was going to go a similar way.

How little did he realise how true the statement was.


	2. Men Without Tents – A Group Who Didn’t N...

Chapter Two: Men Without Tents – A Group Who Didn't Need Tents

_In which Johnny meets said Men Without Tents – the listening joys of 'Dinner Music For A Pack Of Hungry Cannibals' – Johnny's great phobia_

The men sat on barstools and the lead man who appeared to do all the talking ordered four stout glasses of ale for them. Johnny thanked him profusely, but he wouldn't hear anything of it, claiming that he hoped it recompense Johnny for being "so rudely knocked over". Johnny had the sense to keep his mouth shut and accept the gift with a grateful smile.

'_Anyway,'_ Johnny thought, being as low on cash as I am, _'I should damn well drink all the free ale I can get.'_ He firmly decided to uphold this thought, trying to savour the alcohol as he gulped it down. He paused though; Johnny was afraid he was being impolite and took the course of action to question the men. Maybe they would give him money out of pity, or he could convince them to become clients.

'_If they were mad enough,'_ he added darkly and sulked briefly in his drink, before straightening and putting on his 'customer relations' expression.

"So, uh, what do you guys do?" Johnny asked apprehensively and the tallest man chuckled at the younger man's nervous disposition before taking in a deep breath.

"We are a group of men who are on holiday. We're staying in London for a few days to look about all over the place. We travel in caravans, though we love camping out. Unfortunately the small village we hail from ran out of tents and we had to leave without them. That was a dark day," the man lowered his head and Johnny felt a little sorry for him. The man looked so forlorn over such a small upset. Instead of saying anything, Johnny took a sip of ale and watched the three men, who also took long draughts from the large glasses.

The Men Without Tents, as Johnny began to think of them as, were tall burly men with faces that crinkled slightly in all the right places to indicate they were jolly. The 'leader' – at least the only one who appeared to speak – was the tallest and had a shock of ginger hair that melded with his beard, making his face a mass of hair and cold reddened cheeks with small sparkling blue eyes hidden within.

"My name is Johnny, by the way," Johnny told the leader and he grinned, grasping Johnny's hand very firmly. Johnny felt his eyes begin to water from the strength of the grip, but was thankfully released and he let out a quiet gasp.

"Bellows. Lorne Bellows," the man bellowed and Johnny wondered how he ended up involved in such a strange day. Lorne, or Lead Man Without Tent, pointed at one of the other Men Without Tents who remained blank faced and proceeded to introduce them too.

"And this is my two friends who work with me on the farm back home – Kier Sunday and Michael Hanford," Lorne said and the two quiet men each gave Johnny a nod, who gave a pathetic wave in return.

"Ah, they don't like to talk too much. To be honest they're quite disappointed about being unable to acquire some good old fashioned tents. All the modern ones they sell just aren't what we're looking for," Lorne elaborated and Johnny absentmindedly nodded along, not really paying attention.

"You work on a farm. Nice. Better than my job – I do people's taxes for them. You wouldn't happen to be interested in me doing taxes for you, would you?" Johnny asked hopefully, although he didn't believe for a second that Lorne would agree. He was surprised then when the man grinned and grasped his arm heartily.

"Really? We desperately need some help with taxes and would be willing to pay a small sum if you would help us next time taxes come around. You could stay with us over in the outskirts of Folkestone from where we hail. Would you be willing?" Lorne asked Johnny hopefully and Johnny smiled for the first time since they had entered the pub, a wide, genuinely happy smile that made Lorne grin even wider.

"I would be honoured. Wow, a… client," Johnny said, at a loss for words and Lorne clapped him on the back, nearly making him smack his head on his glass.

"Not just one, Kier and Michael would be happy to become clients too. You can run through the farms taxes as well while you're at it," he informed Johnny, who felt his eyes threaten to fall out of his head at the good fortune.

"Thank you so much. I mean, you're the first people who aren't mad or my parents who wanted to be part of my clientele," Johnny confessed and the Men Without Tents shook their heads in unison and stood, their glasses empty.

"It's okay, you can drop the paperwork and so forth later. I'll scribble our address down in London and you can come visit us. Oh, and you would happen to know where a copy of 'Dinner Music For A Pack Of Hungry Cannibals' is, eh? I mean, usually the boy's play it on our yearly travel about, by we seem to have misplaced it," Lorne enquired and Johnny shook his head, feeling slightly bewildered.

"Uh, no. Sorry," he coughed, downing the last of his ale and the Men Without Tents shook their heads sadly. The two silent ones took their leave and Lorne sighed, as if reminiscing while scribbling the address on a procured scrap of paper he had somehow laid hand to, along with the pen.

"Ah, shame. Brilliant tune. Here you go – I trust you know London alright. We're not far from you really. Goodbye for now, Mr. Theremin," he nodded and left the bar, adjusting his heavy raincoat as he opened the heavy oak door.

Johnny sat alone at the bar and a shiver suddenly ran through his body, as if his body realised what Lorne had actually said, before his mind even had time to ponder on it.

"How did you know my surname?" he rapidly turned and called out, but they were already gone. He stood uncertainly, his accelerated heartbeat making him worry about what had just taken place. He went to leave but saw out of the door's window that it was now raining heavily, the sky a leaden grey colour and the rain hurling itself at the ground unpleasantly. Johnny could handle a drizzle, sure, but a full on downpour sent another shiver down his spine.

This was because Johnny was mortally afraid of water. He didn't know why, but suspected he had long ago expertly scabbed over the trauma of say, falling into a bath as a child or crossing the English Channel on a particularly stormy afternoon. He honestly couldn't recall, but it no longer bothered him. Johnny was however terribly embarrassed that people could terrorise him with the knowledge of a nearby bath if they had wanted to and he would scream like a girl should they threaten to put him in said bath. Washing was a daily battle he rather wouldn't go into.

Annoyed at himself for having such a pathetic phobia, Johnny sat down. He felt comfortable, the warm comfortableness you get when you're nicely un-sober. Not drunk, just… un-sober.

"I can wait out some stupid rain," he muttered to himself and contented himself to sit with his back to the bar to watch the rain trickle down the large window panes. More events were yet to befall poor Johnny Theremin, weirder occurrences than he usually encountered. The crazy lady who believed she was famous was about as odd as his life had got.

Sighing, Johnny looked at the piece of paper Lorne had given him and realised that it was actually a flyer folded in half. He looked at the address Lorne had left and noted that Lorne was correct – it really was quite close to where the office was. Intrigued, Johnny unfolded the flyer and peered at the advert. It was for a bar in Soho called The Singing Fish. Johnny noted how stupid the name sounded, but then realised that the owner of the bar sounded familiar.

"Belladonna La Poisson," he murmured, a part of his brain tickling with the familiarity of the name. A vague recollection of an usual looking woman, who was strangely beautiful woman with long flowing black hair and large lugubrious eyes. He wasn't sure where he had heard the name before, but he could deal with that later.

For now, he waited.


	3. Morris Glanz the Heartless Landlord

Chapter Three: Morris Glanz – The Heartless Landlord

_In which Johnny finds his office locked – a confrontation between two old friends – indulging in chocolate_

Morris Glanz was a man who detested Johnny wholeheartedly and had no qualms in locking the young man out of his office, barring him from retrieving any items within he may have wanted.

The man had had enough of the young, layabout who vainly tried to run a poorly thought out business venture. It wasn't _his_ problem; it was that damned Theremin's problem. Glanz knew the younger man was sure to protest about having his office taken away, but as Glanz thought with an evil grin, that's life. How he loved that one.

"Too bad, Theremin, that's life!" he cackled under his breath as he turned the key in the lock and shambled down the corridor to check the offices were secure for the night. It had been known for hoodlums to try and break the keypad lock Glanz had installed to increase security and therefore up the rent on the offices. It aggravated Glanz no end, like a constant thorn in his skinny side. However, the man was glad to find the main doors secure and returned to his office.

Glanz was a tallish, thin man, with a pallid complexion that came with spending his whole life in London and cooped up in offices. Offices had been his life. He tiredly rubbed his face with a bony hand as he sat himself in a ragged office chair and gave a yawn. Glanz had short light brown hair which was greying at the temples and stretched along to the back of his hair. It always reminded him of badgers and he hated it.

"Theremin… I look forward to seeing you…" he muttered and stood, deciding he would make use of the machines he had bought to increase rent. He stalked down the corridors and paused near the dilapidated toilets to face a shiny new vending machine. In it contained wondrous delights that tickled Glanz's tastes to no end.

Chocolate was a habit he hoped nobody would find out about. He had become rather paranoid that it could be a weapon used against him.

Stealing a few hawkeyed glances with grey eyes, he hastily took out a large bunch of keys from a fraying trouser pocket and popped open the glass display case. He stole away the chocolate bar before it knew what had hit it and disappeared back into his office, leaving the eerie silence of the aftermath of his deed.

All was still, save the quiver of a few lonely chocolate bars in the afternoon.

* * *

Johnny was annoyed he had actually stayed in the pub for two whole hours just to avoid the heavy rain. It had finally let up, leaving a misty pall in the cool air that cleared Johnny's slightly un-sober mind up nastily. Johnny had quite liked not having to think about his life, or how Lorne had known his surname, or who the woman from The Singing Fish was. Those thoughts disturbed him even now as he trudged down the street. He had had it with his office for the time being; no-one ever came to it anyway so it wasn't as if he was _really_ abandoning his post, more… taking a business trip home.

Johnny had the feeling he needed to take a nice long lie down before attempting anything else. He knew he was going to have to return to his office and pick those papers up for the Men Without Tents, yet he wasn't sure he could really cope with anything beyond lying prone for several long hours.

"Hey! Johnny!" a high female voice shouted and Johnny jerked out of his reverie and turned only to have a form barrel into him and grip him tight, which he soon discovered to be a hug by a small squeaky woman. His insides felt like they were being set on fire as his brain blared with panic. Today was too much, surely he couldn't hold on…?

"Uh… hello?" Johnny ventured and leaned back to see a vaguely familiar mass of long dark blonde hair. She looked up into his eyes and he felt a mental shiver cross his mind at the recognition.

'_Not today. Of all days, please don't bring this upon me!'_

"Millicent?" he said disbelievingly, her small brown eyes staring at him as he spoke, "what on Earth are you doing here?"

The woman pulled away and fiddled with her hair for a bit, looking smiley but nervous. She shifted from foot to foot before opening her small, heavily lipstick covered mouth to speak.

"We-ell… I live in London – just like you! And we went to school together and know each other and stuff, and Daddy decided that he didn't want to pay for all my clothes and things so I got kicked out of my flat! So could I live with you, because I don't know anyone else!" Millicent trilled, making Johnny wince. He was positive he was going to get a headache.

Johnny remembered Millicent well, but not in a particularly good way. She was from a rich family, and terribly snooty when she was a teenager. She was made to look like she had just stepped off a cover of a horse magazine, fresh from the countryside and talked in a squeaky nasal voice that sent messages to Johnny's brain telling him to vomit, or run away. He was from an average family home and so was regarded as beneath Millicent and her friends, ignored or occasionally taunted by them with snorting, horse sounding laughter that still rattled his head when he had particularly bad nightmares.

"Um, but we really didn't get along…" Johnny began and Millicent lightly hit his arm with one of her finely gloved hands. Millicent was a delicate girl, as if she was on a slightly smaller proportion to everyone else. But somehow she had developed strength that overpowered most people she encountered, her arms like vices when she had been squeezing him.

"Nonsense! I really liked you, just like my old dog, Bettie, bless her soul. Please? You would be doing me a terribly great favour," she pleaded and Johnny sighed heavily, but suddenly brightened as an idea hit him on how to capitalise on the situation.

"I suppose I could… if you could get your parents to become my clients," he decided and Millicent looked puzzled.

"What do you do?" she asked, frowning and moved a clump of flaxen hair behind an ear. Johnny shrugged and decided to simplify his potentially long winded explanation of his career so far.

"I sort people's taxes out for them, so they don't have to," he said shortly and Millicent nodded, as if it was a reasonable trade.

"I'll ask Daddy tonight. You have a telephone, right?" she asked and Johnny shook his head.

"Got a pay phone in the lobby," he informed her and she looked mortified.

"You're poorer than before?" she said with her mouth gaping and Johnny shrugged again, feeling uncomfortable.

"Had to make it on my own. I suppose you're as poor as I am now," he reasoned and she scoffed loudly.

"Rubbish! I have all my expensive clothes, and my Mummy and Daddy and…" she trailed, unable to find anything else and then her lip began to wobble.

"I'm poor!" she wailed and Johnny stepped back in alarm. His nerves getting the better of him, he rubbed his freckles and blinked several times. He wasn't really sure what to do, but made a lame attempt of vaguely patting her arm. Millicent responded with a louder wail that made Johnny's teeth rattle and nearby dogs whine. The pitch was unbearable.

"Please… can we just… quiet down?" Johnny faltered and Millicent managed to shut her mouth, but it trembled terribly as if she was barely able to keep it shut. Johnny had horrible visions of it popping open and that screech boring itself into his head. He liked his head. It was the only one he had and he wasn't willing to let it be destroyed by this formerly absurdly childish rich woman.

"Come on, let's head… home, I suppose," Johnny's stomach clenched at naming Millicent as someone who shared his home. It was his, all his and… that small pathetic excuse for a flat couldn't be called home by anyone else…

"Yay! I have a place to stay!" she exclaimed happily in that shrill voice and Johnny secretly begged for a quick death. Today he was not going to get that lie down. With Millicent around, perhaps _never_. Johnny shuddered at the idea and began hurrying Millicent down the streets to his flat before he changed his mind.

'_Or regain my sanity.'_

_

* * *

Johnny's flat door ominously creaked open and Millicent bustled past Johnny through the doorway, her brown eyes sweeping around the small flat like a bird of prey seeking a mouse. Johnny wasn't sure what she made of his flat. It wasn't tidy, or clean, or in the least attractive. The main feature Johnny rented it was because it was amazingly cheap. He thought it might be the massively predominant seventies favoured brown walls and ratty carpeting._

"It's… not very nice," Millicent said, her lip twisting with disgust as she carefully prodded a pair of discarded jeans out of her path with a foot. Johnny shrugged though her back was to him and sat himself on the worn brown sofa, glad he had his trench coat to prevent skin-to-sofa contact. He was afraid of what was contained within its leaking stuffing.

"There's no asbestos in this place, is there?" Millicent worriedly asked and Johnny scoffed, shaking his head.

"Course not! That's illegal and the Hazmat crew visited this place last year after one of the third floorers complained. It was fine, promise," he explained and Millicent paled and joined him on the sofa, wrinkling her nose.

"That's terrible! Where will I sleep? I'm not sleeping with _you_," she said, her throat twitching as if she wanted to retch. Johnny raised his hands, the mutual feeling of no attraction making him too feel sickened by the thought.

"No problem. I'll take the sofa and you can take the bed. You'll need to get your own covers though – mine is right here," he informed her, motioning to his trench coat and Millicent made a nasal whining noise.

"It's not fair! I like money and you have none!" she cried and Johnny sighed heavily, patting her shoulder as if he were patting a vicious dog.

"You want to use that payphone?" he suggested and Millicent perked up, immediately forgetting what she was whining about. She stood and looked to the door, then Johnny.

"Yes. Where's the payphone?" she demanded and Johnny stood, pulling his trench coat tighter to him as if a cold breeze had hit him. It hadn't, really he just wanted to make sure he had his coat as if it would protect him from her.

"Okay," he said tiredly and exited the flat, entering a dingy corridor. It was all dull browns and oranges, the likes Johnny had never seen since he once accidentally picked up a seventies furniture catalogue buried in the mess that was his parents garage. As a child, he had also been traumatised by that, though he felt it would be a heinous thing to admit a fear of Rattan chairs and glass dining room tables.

Millicent bounced alongside him with her apparently endless energy, her mood now turned to cheerful. Johnny decided she must have some kind of medical condition to be able to move up and down the scales of emotion like a yoyo and then proceeded to wonder whether the woman was a caffeine addict.

They made their way to a rundown foyer, where a glum public phone sat against a wall that screamed to be re-wallpapered. Millicent frowned and slowly bit her lip before removing some change from her blouse pocket and skipping over to the phone. Johnny took a seat on the other side of the foyer, its old leather groaning threateningly. He looked up to find Millicent vainly pulling her sleeve to her hand and trying to hold the phone with the barrier of sleeve between it and her flesh.

"It won't kill you. You can always wash your hands afterwards," he reasoned and frowned, wondering what Millicent thought phones could give you. He was sure that phone hadn't been touched in some time. Generally people thought it was broken.

Gingerly, Millicent held the phone with a bare hand. However nothing terrible happened to her – Johnny couldn't suppress a thought of the phone offing the woman so he could languish in poverty in peace – and she put in the money and dialled.

She began to hum as she waiting, a grating, nasal hum that made Johnny grit his teeth and shut his eyes while he hurriedly tried to cobble together reasons not to throttle her.

Thankfully, the humming ceased and he only had to endure her voice.

"Daddy? Daddy! It's Millicent!... No… no, I'm not Hermione… be quiet, Daddy, I want to talk!... I want to go back to my flat and pick some things up. I have a friend to stay with now, so there! I can make it on my on!"

Her conversation appeared very one sided in Johnny's opinion.

'_No wonder her father kicked her out. I'm starting to wonder why I don't kick her out. Maybe I'm lonely. Or stupid. Or both.'_

He ground his teeth and pondered on these thoughts while Millicent verbally battered her father for another ten minutes.

Eventually Johnny was brought out of his thoughts with the phone being placed back onto the receiver. He had to escape her and get those papers for the Men Without Tents. It wasn't really that far and it hadn't got that dark yet. With a resolved sigh, he stood and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Millicent asked and Johnny faced her, his eye twitching slightly as he had a few school day flashbacks of Millicent and her voice making him want to run. Unconsciously, he gave the freckles on his rose a rub, temporarily comforting him before attempting to answer and keep her from coming with him.

"I need to pop to my office and pick up some papers for some… acquaintances," Johnny informed her and he couldn't help but frown slightly at calling the Men Without Tents acquaintances. Lorne seemed to know who he was and they were so friendly and helpful, you couldn't help but think of them as friends. Johnny shrugged, the feel of his trench coat reassuring. He had the resolute thought that the coat could protect him somehow from Millicent.

"Can I come?" she asked hopefully and Johnny sighed heavily, expecting this to happen. His mind valiantly tried to come up with a reason why she couldn't come, but it kept flashing to the constructed thought of Millicent not liking his excuse and going crazy. She _was_ demented; Johnny was sure of it from his memories of his school days. Well, she certainly wasn't normal.

"I… well you… there's nothing I can do, is there? Nothing, nothing…" he muttered and realised that he was speaking aloud. Hurriedly, he straightened his shoulders and gave his freckles another unconscious rub before taking in a leaden sigh.

"Fine. Come with me and we'll visit my office. It'll be dark by the time we get there, though," he warned her, but she shook her head so her hair fluttered about girlishly. She went to follow, but her eyes widened and she grabbed his arm.

"My handbag! I need it! Keys!" she commanded, her dainty hand extended in front of him, and Johnny monotonously handed them over and she ran off, leaving Johnny to contemplate the sneaky thought of running away himself to escape her.

"She would be safe in the flat…" he quietly rationalised, but he gave his head a shake and patiently waited. She returned within five minutes, her black handbag bouncing against her shoulder as she nearly gambolled into him.

"Let's go!" she shrilled happily and dragged him outdoors.

* * *

Johnny had walked in silence, while Millicent had spoken the whole way, covering everything she could possibly think of that had ever happened to her over the years they hadn't seen each other. Johnny felt uncomfortable with the nasty feeling that every Millicent free year he had enjoyed was being slowly polluted with her every action she had taken in their separation. Tainted, was the word that came into his mind.

It was getting dark by the time the office building was reached. He punched in the code and entered, careful to check Glanz wasn't about to antagonise him. The last thing he needed was Millicent _and_ Glanz to be talking at him, not to him, for long periods of time, each crushing his soul in their own way.

Millicent looked around, clearly impressed with Glanz's rent increasing methods. The chocolate machines gleamed in the fluorescent light. Johnny didn't care much for them and moved on to his office.

Millicent tailed after him, peering through the odd window into the offices with an interest though the rooms were dark. Johnny felt himself tense as he saw his office and foreboding grew. His body told him something was wrong, but he brushed it off, putting the strange day he was having down as the reason for such paranoia.

Tiredly scrubbing his scalp, he placed a hand on the handle and found it wouldn't budge. He never bothered to lock his office as it had nothing particularly worth stealing. His jaw twitched and clenched and he found a growl escape gritted teeth.

"Glanz…" he growled and kicked the door. It rattled and shuddered, making Millicent squawk and back away. Nothing made sense to Johnny anymore – he felt as if the world was ganging up on him to make his life even worse than it already was. Why _him_?

"I've had enough," Johnny muttered, and with that he turned on his heel and strolled out of the office building onto the street. He sat on the edge of the pavement, resting his feet in the road and laid his head on his knees. He needed somewhere to retreat to, but where?

Millicent exited the building to see Johnny stand, straightening his shoulders and pulling his trench coat closer to him for a chill wind blew and she wondered what he was going to do.

Johnny looked into the distance and saw a large piece of London sprawled before him. He could go somewhere… the cinema perhaps. It was a method of escape after all.

Squaring his shoulders, a quickly developing habit, he shoved his cold hands into his large trench coat pockets and began to walk down the street into the unknown.


	4. Dinosaur Rampage – The Movie Of Choice

Chapter Four: Dinosaur Rampage – The Movie Of Choice

_In which Johnny retreats to the cinema – bassoons and their uses – the runaway glove_

"Let's go to the cinema – look I've got a few bob, let's splash out," Johnny droned monotonously and Millicent observed him worriedly.

"Are you okay?" she fretted, his blank face staring ahead along the street periodically lit by streetlights. Johnny shrugged, then shook his head, his eyes blearily blinking as he dragged his thought's together.

"I don't know, Millicent. I've just had enough of today – what the hell's going on, you know? I need some fantasy film to drag me away from this madness before I lose it. Today has just been… oh, come on. My treat if you have no money," Johnny blathered and Millicent decided it was best to just do what he said and nodded, then followed his seemingly aimless wandering.

It turned out Johnny was heading to the cinema and they arrived to an old fashioned movie theatre with a dusty interior and equally dusty looking ticket seller, who was old and grey, in a grey suit that gave the overall impression of an inanimate object before them.

"Uhh…" Johnny pondered and Millicent tapped his shoulder and pointed excitedly at one of the films listed on the board behind the dusty looking man.

"Oh, oh! Can we go see that one! I've wanted to see that one for _ages_!" she asked him eagerly and Johnny relented, not really caring what film they saw, just as long as they temporarily escaped reality. He gave her a nod, making Millicent bounce up and down for a moment and Johnny turned his attention to the man behind the counter.

"Two tickets for… Dinosaur Rampage, please," Johnny told the man, who obliged by slowly producing the tickets and directing them to the screen, though there was only three screens in the whole cinema.

All in all, Johnny couldn't understand what the film was about. From what Millicent had told him – "My friend saw it – it's like an action, horror, adventure, musical comedy!" – it was about dinosaurs escaping from their hiding place in South America and rampaging, while people ran and screamed in fear, while a few broke out in song as the hero rescued the female interest in the film. Johnny vaguely wondered who had paid to make this movie and why Millicent had been so desperate to see it.

"Psst! I heard that this is the best bit – tap-dancing!" she whispered and Johnny watched in horror as the dinosaurs stopped rampaging and instead looked on in wonder as the people they had previously been eating were now avidly tap dancing and singing along to music that came from the local record store, which was partly smashed by said dinosaurs.

Johnny became convinced that he had in fact finally gone mad and began to curl himself into a ball, drawing his knees up to his chin and resting his forehead on his knees. Queasiness hijacked his stomach and Johnny gave a quiet moan as his head throbbed.

"I don't want to be mad," he faintly whispered to himself in an effort to convince his mind what he claimed was true. It was hard to say whether he was lying or not since he was curled up and muttering to himself. Even Millicent glanced at him but shrugged, too engrossed in the film to care.

* * *

The movie had ended in such a peculiar way, Johnny felt shattered just from watching it. The doubt of madness had passed, leaving him feeling both drained and unfeeling. And uncomfortable. Curling up into a ball hadn't been the best idea considering the small cinema chairs. His legs hurt.

He had been given some time to think and during that time, Morris Glanz and his desire to torture Johnny and eschew him every single time the two encountered one another. Anger burned.

"I'll show Glanz," Johnny found himself growling and Millicent pouted, gently scuffing her shoe on the curb. Her small brown eyes tried to widen as much as possible in the dim light the streetlights provided, making her look like a mad horse rolling its eyes.

"You _can't_!" she whined, "That would be _mean_!"

Johnny sighed. She didn't know Glanz at all and he wished he could be bothered to tell her about the myriad of _mean_ things Glanz had done to him.

"He's not the nicest man in the world, Millicent." Johnny said dully, his hand reaching to rub the freckles on his nose. He forced it into his pocket, though and grit his jaw tight, grinding his teeth together unpleasantly.

"I'm going to my office, Millicent," he said levelly, "Do you want to come?"

Millicent hopped from foot to foot in indecision like a child, her face furrowed with irresolution and her mouth opening and shutting like a fish. Johnny almost wanted to laugh, but he knew she'd probably go nuts and try and kill him if so much as a chuckle escaped his lips.

"Um… okay. But if we get in trouble… I'm blaming you!" her voice grated his ears as usual, but he found himself (to his horror) actually getting used to it.

"Well…" he began, then halted his plan to lecture her on keeping quiet and not drawing attention to them, "… come on, then."

The two of them faded into the night.

* * *

It was a silent walk, to Johnny's relief. When they arrived, all was silent and the two of them slipped into the office block with no problems. Now they stood in front of his locked office, Millicent nervously peering about and occasionally shifting from one foot to the other. Her face was pale and Johnny noted the spooked look with sympathy. Perhaps he should have taken her home.

With a heavy sigh, Johnny wrapped his all purpose trench coat around his arm and punched the pane of glass with all the force he could muster, which made the pane merely shatter, but not, as such, break.

With an annoyed sigh, Johnny punched again. This time he achieved what he had originally intended and the pane gave way under the reapplied force, allowing Johnny to put his coat back on and reach in, opening the office door.

"I can't believe you did that. That's illegal," Millicent whispered anxiously and Johnny shrugged, making Millicent pout.

"I don't care. Glanz is a bastard who deserves this kind of treatment," Johnny declared and stepped into his dark office, but turned to face Millicent.

"You coming?" he asked, offering a hand to help her step over the glass, but she shook her head and looked a bit more like the old snooty Millicent he remembered as a teenager.

"Nu-uh. I'm not getting involved in this criminal stuff. I'm going to go to the bathroom and freshen up," she informed him and then looked about with an expression of confusion.

"Uh, where is the bathroom?" she enquired and Johnny sighed, then pointed down the corridor.

"Around the corridor, the third door on the left," he told her and she nodded her thanks and disappeared down the corridor, leaving Johnny to turn around and enter the shadowy office.

Looking about, Johnny felt an eerie silence descend around him and he involuntarily gulped, as if he felt a disturbing presence in his midst. He warily looked about again, to once more find nothing and relaxed.

In one swift movement, the bassoon cracked the side of Johnny's skull and he slumped to the floor, his head ringing from the impact and his eyes fluttered and saw the vague shape of a giant shadowed creature towering above him. As his mind slipped away into a warm, but painful void, he could have sworn he heard the creature made a strange clucking noise before disappearing and leaving him to fall unconscious.

* * *

Millicent sat with Johnny's head in her lap as she pressed the cold wet mess of toilet paper to his throbbing head. To preserve her precious gloves, she had neatly placed them beside her on the floor and mentally grumbled about the lack of a sofa. Johnny looked strangely peaceful considering the wallop he had sustained and she occasionally patted him on the shoulder, hoping he would wake up and she wouldn't have to have her legs crushed by his damn weight.

What she didn't notice was that one of her gloves was gone. When Millicent had heard the attack from the toilets, the glove had realised it was in danger and had planned its escape. As soon as Millicent had removed her gloves, the glove had quietly snuck away as she had tended to Johnny. Millicent did not know the properties of her left glove and of its purpose in the world, nor did she care. At that point all she cared about was-

**a)** Not getting her gloves ruined.

**b)** Making sure the person who knew where they lived and had the keys to the flat was alright to get home.

**c)** Making sure after Johnny had come to, to get him off her so her legs weren't permanently crushed.

**d)** Lastly, making sure her hands were thoroughly washed after touching Johnny's slightly blood strained – though only a little – head.

Just when she was about to turn to her gloves in order to carefully pop them in her handbag, she was distracted by the shadow that fell across her. Warily she raised her large eyes to figure.

"What the hell is going on here?" Morris Glanz growled, standing in the doorway menacingly and Millicent squeaked in fear.

"W-who're you!" she asked fearfully and Glanz set his jaw.

"I'm the landlord and this pane of glass is broken, not to mention this office has been reclaimed by me, since the tenant missed his rent payment. Who are you?" he retorted and Millicent frowned, as if he had hurt her.

"I am Millicent Altruist Hilton-Deale, my Mummy named me. And this is Johnny Theremin, who I live with because Daddy wouldn't pay for my flat and so I found Johnny and he let me live with him, so then I-" she explained, but Glanz cut her off with a concentrated glare and she fell silent, her eyes wide.

Glanz glowered for a moment and then looked down on the fallen figure, who he finally recognised as Johnny. They remained silent for a minute and then Glanz thought of a question to ask.

"What happened to the little rent skive?" he growled and Millicent shrugged, then remembered that she had been dabbing at Johnny's head and so continued to do so.

"Well… Johnny had to pick up something from the office, so I went to the bathroom to freshen up and everything was quiet for a while, but then there was a crash and I ran out of the bathroom and into the office and Johnny was lying on the floor and the bassoon case was lying open with the bassoon on the floor. I suppose he tripped over it and hit his head on something, maybe," she took a breath, feeling light-headed from the incessant talking and Glanz's face darkened.

"So, he caused property damage too. Well, well, well… it isn't looking good for Theremin at all," he grinned and examined the bassoon. The mouthpiece had a definite bend near the top and he grinned even wider, if that was possible. His teeth gleamed disturbingly and Millicent became angry at this man's spite towards Johnny, her only hope of survival.

"That's mean!" she shrilled so nearby windows gently rattled and stood, letting Johnny's head bump on the floor and stepped forward over Johnny's prone body, squeezing the wet toilet paper in her hand tightly, "You just don't like Johnny and want to get him in trouble, but I know law and things because my Daddy knows those things and it's against the law to withhold people's possessions like that! So Johnny was sort of right to smash your stupid pane!" she retorted inanely, but there was a base of truth to it and Glanz couldn't help but acknowledge it with a flash of surprise in his grey eyes.

"Fine. I'll call it quits with Theremin. But he can get his stuff out of here and _then_ he can forget about coming back into this office until he pays up," Glanz conceded and Johnny finally cracked his eyes open to find himself on the floor with both the back and side of his head throbbing.

"Ow," Johnny managed to croak and Millicent spun around, realising what she had done. Instantly regretful, she knelt beside him and reapplied the ball of tissue on Johnny's head.

"You're awake! Sorry I dropped your head on the floor-" she was about to continue, but paused in her speech, her face draining of colour and her eyes fixed on the floor next to Johnny.

"Ahh! Where has my glove gone!" she screeched at an ear shattering volume and Johnny cringed, his head hurting even more.


End file.
